


Alone

by TakingFlight48



Series: The Dog and The Bone [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 31 Days of Writing Challenge - Fall 2020, 6th in the Series, Anniversary of Reggie's death, Emotions are being created, F/M, He drinks to cope with loss, He smokes to forget he's coping, Hermione isn't one to let people suffer alone, Hermione isnt so stuck up, Hermione sees another side of Sirius, Muggle AU, October 16 Prompt - Substance Abuse, Sirimione - Freeform, Sirius and his vices, SiriusxHermione - Freeform, The Dog and The Bone Series, even if they didn't ask for her help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TakingFlight48/pseuds/TakingFlight48
Summary: Isolating himself was the goal, praying for someone to force their way in was the hope, having her see him at his lowest wasn't part of the plan.Warning: Heavy Drinking and Use of Recreational Marijuana
Relationships: Sirius Black/Hermione Granger
Series: The Dog and The Bone [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991194
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13
Collections: 31 Days of Writing Challenge - Fall 2020





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 31 Days of Writing Challenge - Day 16: Substance Abuse
> 
> Much love to the mods for the prompt and Kiwi for her unending and everlasting support. xo
> 
> **This is Part 6 of The Dog and The Bone - Sirimione Series.**   
> 
> 
> Enjoy ☮ ✌ 

_**This is Part 6 of an interconnected series of[one-shots](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991194). To get the whole reading experience, I recommend starting with Part 1 [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270781).** _

* * *

He stared blearily out at the various bottles strewn about his bedroom as his phone began to ring in time with the pulsing of his head. Instead of answering, however, knowing it was step one in Remus' 'get Sirius out of his head' tactics, he shook the whiskey within the plastic bottle, wondering how much more he could drink before his liver gave up too. Gritting his teeth as he swallowed the final sip, the empty bottle count increasing by one, he thunked his head back, cursing as it hit unforgiving wood instead of softened plaster. 

However, as the dulling tendrils of the alcohol finally peered from behind his grief, a sharp light knocked it back down and blinded him through his closed lids. Squinting in confusion against the sole strip of descending sunlight assaulting him through his useless blinds, he knew the whiskey alone would not be enough tonight. Eyes scarcely opened, he threw his hand up to the desk behind him, his rings clinking against things he had no use for. Feeling hopeful as his fingers grazed the matches, he continued against the surface blindly but was coming up empty of Lady J. 

Groaning, he slowly shifted side to side, arse sliding along the alcohol moistened floor, as he worked up the momentum to get back onto his feet. "Aha!" Sirius shouted triumphantly into the dank and empty space, "there she is."

The inebriated man stared hard at the space he had just vacated and made a rather ingenious idea not to return to the floor. Smirking cheekily, he glanced up, ready to announce his decision but stopped the words from passing his lips. “Alone,” he murmured and threw his weight into the lone couch in his master suite. It hadn't always been like this, drowning himself like this. If he was honest with himself, it had started when James and Lily were killed, then Reggie was stolen from him. So instead of Remus being up here with him, he pushed him away, demanded he tend to his guests, begged him to let him be. 

If he tried, he could hear the low murmur of his guests and movement of glasses a few floors down. It seemed like the festivities were a success, even if his presence was missing. He knew that most people would steer clear of him tonight, but for once he wished there was someone as pushy as Reggie in his life. He didn’t think he actually wanted to be alone.

Reggie. Gone now four years. Four years after they had finally reconciled following a decade of silence. “Fuck,” he murmured into the silence instead, tips of his hair grazing his face as he shook his head. This is why he was drinking shit whiskey. He should have fought harder for Reggie to stop side dealings with McNair. Should have prevented him from meeting the unconfirmed assassin that night and being caught in the crossfire. 

This is also why he stopped Remus from sitting in the dark with him. Nothing anyone could say tonight could help him, but fuck if he didn't wish there was a cure to this sorrow, this guilt. 

The match shrouded his hands in an orange hue as he attempted to inhale the familiar haze his green provided. He watched each exhale dissipate around him, the same way those closest to him seemed to dissipate from his life. 

“Fucking sap.” He chastised his thoughts. “Never buying shitty whiskey again, makes me all emotional.” He took another drag of his joint, crisp rolling paper held loosely between his fingers as the lit end ate away at the paper in its path. He was swaying to a song only he could hear, the stank of weed invading his every sense as the smoke moved with him. 

“This is for you, Reggie.” Sirius murmured around the joint before reaching for another bottle of the sewer water he was chugging, unaware that his bedroom door had been propped open. 

“So this is what they meant by self-destructive behaviour?” Sirius merely rolled his head to the side, eyes sliding over the summer dress that tucked itself around her chest and glided down her torso in loose waves, neither hiding nor giving away what he could find beneath. 

She snapped her fingers, and he leisurely returned his gaze to her face, watching the way her lips twitched as she attempted stern. “Mind if I light a candle or two?”

Waving around the herbal bandaid in acquiescence, he followed the flow of her knee-length dress as she glided to his desk, snatching the matches and proceeding to light a few of his candles. “Why not just turn on the lights?” he slurred out loud, wondering why candles were her first go to.

“I don’t know about you, Sirius Black,” she started slowly, quietly, her movements just as methodical as she placed the small matchbox back on his desk before turning to lean against it, hands on the flat surface. He watched her chest as she breathed, eyes assessing him just as quietly, “When I indulge in shit whiskey and herbal destressers, the last thing I want is electricity to kill my buzz.”

“Fuck,” he ran a heavy hand through his hair. He did not have the mental space to deal with her perfect answers to everything. Her long neck turned to the side, and her eyes trailed up and down his seated form. 

“Is this,” Hermione squinted her eyes, “is this, normal behaviour from you?”

He chewed on his tongue for a moment as she absently played with her long, curly hair. It was down today, curls totally askew, held off her face by a braid laying around her face. 

“I typically chose sex over the excess whiskey, but not too far off otherwise.” He rarely cared what women thought, but he held his breath, waiting for her to turn and leave or chastise him for not acting his age. 

“Are you ill?” she asked instead, and Sirius just stared at her, feeling slower than the joint would typically make him. “Er, no?” he asked back, eyes widening a fraction as she laughed and moved to sit under his extended left leg on the couch. 

“Then, you know what they say,” she said, fingers extended, waiting, “sharing is caring.” 

Sirius choked on the hit he had been taking before absently handing her the joint, face turning to breathe out in front of them. “Oh no, Mr Black,” she murmured as she grabbed hold of the joint and shifted. Sirius’ foot thumped to the floor as she moved onto her knees. Later, when sober, he would gladly let Remus slap his lack of subtlety. But in this moment, hazy with hash and 30 proof whiskey, he let his eyes stray firmly to her thighs. She had gripped the front, tops of her thighs peeking out as she shuffled towards him on her knees, stopping when her knees touched his thighs. A whimper escaped his lips as the light fabric covered her back up. 

He followed the hand, flattening her dress back up, continued up her body, eyeing her chest longer than strictly necessary before watching the way her lips wrapped around the joint. Licking his lips, he greedily eyed the way her chest presented itself closer to his opened mouth as she inhaled from his joint. 

He didn’t dare look up into those top-of-the-line whiskey-coloured iris’s until her small hand landed on his cheek. “I meant all the sharing,” and Sirius would have died if he didn’t need to immediate breath in the weed she was exhaling against his lips. 

She pulled away, lips landing against his jaw, hot breath blowing out the last dredges of the drag she took, before she sat back, prim as could be, smoothing her dress over her knees, and leaning against the arm of his couch. 

“Well yes,” he said after a moment of silence, “that’s definitely one way to share.” He licked the corner of parched lips. She was not shy in her own appraisal of him, and he was glad to be on even footing in that aspect, but as she bit her lip, her eyes were deceptively hard to read.

The sober whisper in his gut told him to wait; this time was not it. However, he was not a Marauder for nothing. Believing this was his chance to indulge in this rare breed he made to pin her against the couch. Instead, with gentleness to her voice, the little minx placed a gentle hand against his shoulder. “I think two of three vices in one night is a safe amount. Plus, you’re pissed, and I’d hate to take advantage.” She smirked at his stunned expression. “For now, do you want to talk about what inspired this? Or just sit here and exist?”

Sliding his fingers down her arm and lightly circling her wrist, he brought her palm up to his lips again in silent gratitude, ignoring the blush that rippled just above her low cut dress. Breathing against her palm, praying his tongue thick with inebriation he skirted her question, “You must think me pathetic, throwing a party for the Summer Solstice and then hiding away up here. I can’t imagine what sort of whispers you heard, but I would hate to ruin your evening further.”

“No one forced me up here,” she whispered, momentarily jealous of the joint enjoying the feel of her lips once again. Humming she continued as the smoke fell from her lips in waves, “I may have overheard a conversation about the Head of the House, and my overly curious self made my up here against the warning of others. I don’t think anyone is going to come looking though, Remus sort of gave me this odd nod, brow, elbow thing when he saw me slipping out of the main room.” Hermione cycled through a scarily accurate rendition of Remus' silent language; nose scrunched up as she extended her pinched fingers to him. 

Laughing as his fingers brushed hers longer than necessary as he took the blunt back, “Yeah, Remus knows whats what more often than anyone else around us.”

“I’m not sure how much Harry has told you about me, or Pansy for that matter,” she continued more cautiously, wrapping her hands around herself as if preparing for some ill reaction on his part. “But I had a rough go of it for a few years before I left Australia. I actually only really knew Harry obliquely for the first year of their relationship. I’m sure living various time-zones over didn’t help matters, but it wasn’t until his parents passed that I really got to know him. Then a few years later, my parents were in a really horrific shooting. My mother” --she paused to take a hit of the joint he had willingly relinquished back to her-- “is relegated to a wheelchair and my father wears those eye patches you see on pirates.” 

He was mesmerized by the way her curls tumbled around her as she threw her head back and chuckled lightly. “It’s actually rather ridiculous, and I have asked him to remove it, repeatedly to no avail. He claims he met a man in a defence conference once, a Moody something or other, and dad threatened to paint an eye onto it the way this acquaintance did. I stopped complaining after that.”

"Moody!" he barked out, hand coming to his stomach, praying nothing but air would escape him as he laughed at how small this world could be. “If it’s the same Moody I know then good on you for letting matters be, it’s really rather unnerving the way that man fucks with that eye patch.”

Hermione watched him wide-eyed, handing the joint back to him in a staccato manner, “I am so sorry! But it's nice to see you laugh, Sirius." Her smile was sad as if she truly meant what she said and hadn't simply come up to appease a sad sod like him. "This wasn’t about my sad tale. The point to my story is, I may not have lost an immediate family member, my family being as small as it is, but I am not a stranger to loss. So, talking about it won’t scare me away, promise. That’s how I got so close to Harry after all. And I suppose him in turn with me when I was brave enough to reach out for support. There were a few sticky months when I thought I, too, would end up orphaned.”

They settled into an easy silence, and Sirius sat mesmerized as the candle closest to Hermione flickered against her amber eyes. Absently trading the joint back and forth, Sirius tried to match his breath to her steady one, uncaring that her skin prickled everywhere his eyes roamed. 

“I’m a bit too far gone for the grim details, I’m afraid. Might cry and then what sort of chance do I have with you sober? Hm?” Sirius smiled at the light laugh that escaped her even as she bit her lip. “But I lost my little brother four years ago today. Shooting as well, actually.” 

He knew he was slurring his words worse now than when she had first entered. Sirius also knew he looked a wreck, shirt rumpled, cheap whiskey dribbled over his shirt, hair tangled, wild and greasy, but she made him feel like he was coherent, sober, present as he talked about his brother, their history, his guilt. She was not as pushy as Reggie had been when he had locked himself away the days following the Potters death-versary. Perhaps he didn't know exactly what it was he needed, but talking to her, knowing she was not scared away by all of this, settled something that had been rattling around all week within his rib cage. 

They ended the night, Hermione just as high as him and Pansy’s knowing smirk on her lips as she came to collect her. Sirius had offered his bed, but she waved him away with a sweet kiss to the corner of his lip and a brushing down of his shoulders. He was thankful she had good people in her corner who trusted her but would also be there to take her home. That didn't stop something odd from clenching inside him when he realized, that night, it could not have been him keeping her safe since he was too far gone to care for himself properly. 

He remained alert, long after his home had quieted and Remus had reappeared with a knowing smile; the forever playboy played through the reel of his past, attempting to understand if this was what falling in love felt like. 

**Author's Note:**

> MUCH LOVE to Kiwi05622 for the Moodboard that set us up for this little 'hiding from our demons' ride. 
> 
> Not a huge fan of writing about this since it is already so prevalent in real life, but it was a prompt that fit and I think there is something to be said about how coherent Sirius still was after all that drinking. Showcases a larger problem than even he realizes he is holding onto. 
> 
> Anywho - hope you liked it. 
> 
> Thanks to Grammarly for her robotic support and my beta - myself - is to blame for any errors still lingering here.
> 
> Please leave love in words or kudos as they motivate and uplift. Con-Crit is also always welcome here.
> 
> ॐ


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